


Take Away

by BarPurple



Series: BarPurple's House of Horror 2017 [11]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Ravenous (1999)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Detective Weaver - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-20 00:19:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12421170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarPurple/pseuds/BarPurple
Summary: Weaver just wanted some information, and he didn't care how he got it.





	Take Away

**Author's Note:**

> Companion piece to Dinner To Go

“What do you reckon? Is it him?”

Weaver’s voice was low, but Rogers heard him. Give the lad his due he managed to double check the surveillance photo on his phone without being obvious, he could have been looking up the footie results.

“Yeah, it’s him. What’s the play?”

Weaver shrugged and attacked his steak; “I’m sure an opportunity will present itself,” – he hummed around his mouthful of food, - “Eat up lad, not often we get to put a good meal on expenses.”

Rogers cocked an eyebrow at him, but continued eating. The lad really was a goodie two shoes, but that was what Weaver needed, so he wasn’t going to needle him about it.

Their mark provided the perfect opportunity when he loudly made a crude comment to his date; “Well least I know you can swallow, right?”

Rogers wasn’t the only on at their table who looked appalled. Weaver knew himself to be a bastard, but even he had manners better than this slimeball. He twisted slightly in his chair to better watch the mark in the mirror; he wasn’t the only one keeping an eye on the table. A bearded man dining alone two tables over was watching with a look of disgusted disbelief on his face, and the young guy at the next table looked like he was going to snap his fork into.

“Sweetheart, I picked up you, I know where you live.”

Weaver grinned to himself; now that was a threat and the perfect moment for a copper to step in. He gave Rogers a look that kept him in his seat and strolled over to Slimeball and his date, pausing for a moment to place a friendly hand on the shoulder of the young guy, who was half way out of his chair.

“I’ve got this, kid.”

He caught the back of a spare chair and let it scrape on the floor enough to draw the attention of the whole restaurant, he preferred to work in the shadows, but some moments called for an audience. He straddled the chair and dropped his shield on to the tablecloth before Slimeball had time to get indignant. He gave the lady a reassuring smile and turned cold eyes on the mark. He was the bastard they were looking for, he was certain of that now he had a good look at him.

“Now, here I am a decent officer of the law, trying to enjoy a good meal on my evening off, and I hear you threaten this young lady. Can you imagine what sort of mood that puts me in?”

The mark scowled at him, “I didn’t threaten her…”

“Ah, ah, yes you did. I heard you, and so did everyone else in this fine establishment. We also all heard the vile comments you made, quite put my brother in blue off his steak they did.”

Out of the corner of his eye Weaver spotted the bearded man leave his table, he didn’t worry, the uniforms outside would have an eye out in case he was linked to this case. His focus was on making Slimeball as uncomfortable as he could, which was almost too easy. Within moments he had his ID and sent him off to pay for the meals.

“Thank you, Detective.”

He’d all but forgot the lady while he was having his fun, he turned to her now and gave her a smile; “Not a problem at all, miss. I understand he drove you here?” – She nodded, - “How about you finish your meal with my partner, Detective Rogers and we’ll call a lady officer to escort you home?”

“Oh, I don’t want to be any more trouble…”

“No trouble at all. You head over to our table and I’ll make sure that this slimeball leaves the building, and never bothers you again.”

He didn’t care how she got home, but he did want Rogers to talk to her just in case she was tangled up in this as well, he didn’t think it was likely, she was shaking like a leaf, but it never hurt to cover all the bases. He waved Rogers over and the lad’s natural charm had her happy to move tables. Weaver put the chair he’d been using back and was surprised to get a thumbs-up from a few of the diners; of course, they thought he was a white knight, he took their appreciation with a grin and wondered what they’d think if they knew of his plans for Slimeball.

Rogers was in conversation with the lady, so Weaver slipped out to follow Slimeball, best to keep the lad out of this bit, no point in offending his delicate sensibilities any further.

It took him less than a minute to see that he wasn’t the only one tailing Slimeball. The bearded man from the restaurant was close on his heels, and it didn’t look like a coincidence, still the cloud of cigar smoke was easy enough to follow. Weaver let them step into a bar and bought himself a coffee from the bodega on the corner to keep him warm as he watched and waited. There were two exits from this bar and from here he could see both of them. It didn’t surprise him in the least when Smileball and Cigar stepped out into the alley from the back door. It was a nice secluded alley, perfect for putting the fear of God into people and then beating the hell out of them if need be. He chucked the dregs of his coffee in the trash and ambled in the alley.

He was surprised to find Cigar had Slimeball pushed up against the wall and was necking him. He’d honestly not thought Slimeball batted for both teams, but who was he to judge? He cleared his throat and Cigar turned his head enough to reveal that they weren’t in fact making out; Cigar had Slimeball’s head pinned against the wall and had ripped his jacket and shirt from one arm. From the looks of it he’d also bitten a chunk out of his shoulder. He didn’t look the slightest bit worried about being caught in the act, although Weaver still wasn’t quite sure exactly what he had interrupted.

“Ah, good evening Detective.”

Blood shone darkly on Cigar’s teeth and lips. Slimeball began whimpering and moaning for help, but for the moment Weaver ignored him; he’d got a hand to his wound and wasn’t going to bleed out in the next five minutes. The word ‘vampire’ kept trying to push to the front of his mind, but that was just bloody ridiculous. The danger of the situation wasn’t lost on him, for now he decided to play it as if they had just been making out. 

“Sorry to interrupt your fun gentleman, but this is a public street and I need to ask Mr Gaston a few questions.”

“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know! Just get this freak off of me!”

Cigar growled and twisted. Weaver found himself with Gaston on his knees a few feet away, Cigar had a firm grip on him and was twisting his arm above his head, so he could immobilise Gaston and keep pressure on his wound, very considerate of the would-be killer really. It wasn’t going to take much more pressure for that joint to snap, but Weaver couldn’t shake the feeling that Cigar had the strength to bypass breaking and simply rip the arm right off. Cigar grinned at him, as if he could read his thoughts, and that word he was refusing to consider popped to the front of his mind again.

“I was only going to have a nibble Detective, a punishment if you will for his behaviour in the restaurant, but after talking to him for an hour I think the world will be better served if I just gobble him up.”

‘Vampire’ was replaced with ‘cannibal’. Weaver kept his face bland, easy enough to do, he really didn’t give a toss what happened to Gaston, but he did want his information. He shifted slightly on his feet to suggest that he was ready to reach for his weapon, more to give Gaston hope than anything else. Gaston started babbling again.

“Shot him! Please! I’ll tell you everything!”

“Who’s transporting the goods for your Bossman?”

Gaston suddenly went tight lipped. Cigar twisted his arm and he began to sing.

“The nuns from a convent down in Maine, they come here for missionary work and bring the goods in.”

Weaver snorted a laugh, no wonder they hadn’t been able to work out how the drug known on the street as Fairy Dust was getting into town. Who the hell thought to search nuns? Well, he would have, but he’d always found nuns unsettling.

“When’s the next delivery?”

“I don’t know. I just get a text. My phone is in my pocket.”

Cigar proved to be a good citizen and helped Weaver with his enquiries by pulling the phone from Gaston’s pocket and tossing it over.

“Pin code is 8008.”

Weaver rolled his eyes and unlocked the phone. There were the usual messages from friends; the ones that caught his attention were all from different numbers, but all started with the words ‘Bossman wants’. 

“And who is Bossman?”

Gaston shook his head; Cigar gave an annoyed sigh and let go of the wound. Weaver was impressed, both at the size of the hole Cigar had chewed into him and the scare tactic. Blood spurted from the wound and Gaston screamed. Cigar applied pressure again as Gaston babbled; “Luddy, Babs Luddy.”

He pocketed the phone, it was only a name, but it was more than he was expecting from a mid-level goon like Gaston. He stared at Cigar.

“He’s all yours.”

Gaston’s scream was cut short as Cigar snapped his neck with ease. Weaver’s nose wrinkled as Gaston’s bladder let go, he took a step to the side to avoid the puddle of piss. Well that was that problem dealt with, now he had to work out what to do with Cigar.

“You really going to eat him?”

Cigar gave him a slow smile; “Oh yes,” – his eyes narrowed and he pointed a bloody finger at Weaver, - “That doesn’t disturb you at all does it?”

Weaver shrugged; “As long as you’re not planning on making a meal out of me or mine, I don’t give a damn about your diet.”

Cigar pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and without taking his eyes from Weaver carefully began wiping the blood from his hands.

“You played the hero so well in the restaurant, but you didn’t even flinch when I killed him. You are not the man I thought you were, Detective.”

“Aye, you’d be surprised how often I hear that.”

“My name is Ives, I would offer to shake hands, but…”

Even in the dim light of the alley he could see that the handkerchief had left bloody streaks on the man’s palm. Weaver fished a card from his pocket and held it between two fingers, Ives leaned forward and plucked it from his grasp; “Drop by the station soon, I’m very accommodating to citizens who so willing help with my enquires.”

Ives tucked the card away, and Weaver nudged the body with the toe of his boot; “I assume you can managed from here?”

“I have had some practise, Detective.”

Weaver hummed and turned on his heel, he took a few steps before he glanced back over his shoulder and said; “Don’t leave bits of him where kiddies could find him. I’ve got enough paperwork on my plate.”

Ives chuckled; “I promise there won’t be a scrap of him left to leave anywhere.”

Weaver walked out of the alley and decided that he’d earned a drink, the bar was tempting, but a little distance who be wise, just in case Ives wasn’t as skilled as he made out. Back in his apartment he slowly drank a large measure of scotch and wondered why he wasn’t thrown by the incident in the alley. Ives was going to eat that corpse and all he could think about was how having a cannibal around might come in handy to make other problems disappear. This was dark even for him. He threw back the rest of the scotch and poured himself another; it was dark, but dark he could handle.


End file.
